


Take me to Church

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Music, M/M, Sad Dean, Suicide, Symbolism, TAKE ME TO CHURCH, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Where Castiel goes, Dean will follow'</p><p>Inspired by Hozier's 'Take Me To Church' (song and music video)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me to Church

 

“Dean, please. Not here.” Castiel says as he pulls away from a kiss. He looks into Dean’s eyes, a plea for him to listen. They were the only ones here by the river bank, company only the chirps of birds and the soft tinkling of running water. They were at the edges of the clearing. It was much too cold for anyone else to be out, but they could not afford to be reckless, the consequences would be far too dire.

Dean smiles, a silent promise as he leans in, tenderly cupping his lover’s cheek, and presses a gentle kiss to warm lips. “Don’t worry about it Cas, no one's here.”

He remembers the first time he'd kissed Dean, young and naïve and confused by his feelings. He had heard about this at church; confided in the priest within the safety of the confessional. They’d all told him the same thing; that it is wrong, but they don’t understand, he loves Dean with all of his heart. Loves the way he worships him. Loves the way he’s the hope Castiel has in the darkness. They tell him he was born sick, but he loves it. If heaven refuses him, then he shall find heaven alone with Dean.

Dean looks at him then, and he knows that no force could ever break them apart; where Castiel goes, Dean will follow. It’s a promise they’ve made to each other both in word and spirit.

“Did you bury the box?” Dean asks him, and the weight of the question is something no one their age should have to worry about.

“Yes. In the woods behind my house. Near _the_ tree.” Dean nods, and draws Castiel into a warm embrace, never wanting to let him go. He presses his lips to Castiel’s neck, before once more drawing in his lips. Warmth floods through Castiel, and he will never understand how people see something so ugly in something that is so beautiful.

Dean begins to walk away, but just before he leaves he turns to face Castiel. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. Wherever you go, I go. Remember?” Castiel nods. “We’ll be safe.”

Castiel doesn’t tell Dean about the spike of worry he feels at those words.

Castiel retires, beginning his tread home as well. Upon his arrival he moves to the backyard, venturing into the tall green trees and earthly brown of the woods. Fifty steps forward, turn forty-five degrees, keep walking until you reach the small pine tree. It stands a dwarf among the other giants. It is young, so much life ahead of it. He and Dean had planted it themselves. It’s where he buried the box.

As he approaches the tree, he sees a burrow beyond the spiked leaves. His heart drops as he sees the dirt he’d piled atop his secret has once more been pushed to the side, revealing the absence of the box.

He has to run, he has to get to Dean, to warn him. People will be coming to get them, with their pitchforks and sharpened knives. He turns to run, legs propelling him forward as he makes his way to his love. He doesn’t get far before a strong hand seizes his arm, halting his movement and throwing him to the soil beneath him.

He spots Uriel looming above him, right next to him is Zachariah. Dread pools in his belly.

“What are you doing?”

If they hadn’t already installed fear in the deepest recesses of Castiel’s bones, the next voice would undoubtedly do it. “What is this, Castiel?” His brother sneers at him, holding an oak box, silver chain bordering its girth.

“Michael,” He pleads his older brother “Please, you don’t understand.”

“You’re right Castiel, I cannot, nor will I ever understand how you can be so _perverted_.” He spits at Castiel, like he’s some sort of disease, a sickness.

“Maybe if you just opened the box, you might understand, please just open the box.”

“I have tried to open the box, Castiel. I have tried with all my might, and I cannot open it. I will _never_ open it. I will _destroy_ it. And I will destroy you.”

 _No, this can’t be happening,_ Castiel thinks. He struggles to break free, but Uriel and Zachariah have grabbed his arms with a bruising pressure. His feet dig into the soft earth as he is dragged, leaving a trail of abrasions in his path. He thrashes and kicks, but his efforts are useless. He feels like an insect among gods, like a helpless lamb being dragged into the lion’s den.

Twigs cut into his legs as he is hauled ruthlessly, relief only coming after what feels like hours. His vision erupts into yellow, and he thinks he is about to pass out; when he realises where the colour is coming from, he wishing he was. In front of him is a huge fire, flames licking the air as they flicker with a fury.

“Please! Please do not do this. I’m begging you.” His pleads fall on deaf ears, and his last glimmer of hope is extinguished as the box is tossed into the angry blaze.

Indescribable pain radiates through his body as he feels a boot collide with his ribs. An endless onslaught of agony washes over him, holding him down like merciless waves pinning him to the ocean floor. He’s trapped, he cannot break the surface, he cannot breath. The yellow of the fire is replaced by the red hue of his blood. He feels a pressure on his windpipe, and he scratches haplessly, ripping and tearing the skin on the arms that hold him down. The hands that had changed his diapers as a child, fed him when he was hungry, were now the same hands that were killing him.

He is passed the point of pain now, all he feels is terror. He doesn’t want it to end like this, his last thoughts filled with fear and panic. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He and Dean were supposed to grow old together. They had so much left ahead of them.

_It isn’t supposed to happen like this. I’m supposed to die old, and happy, in the arms of the man I love._

But it can’t happen, Castiel knows it can’t happen. If he has to have a last thought before death welcomes him with open arms, it will be of Dean. And so as the blackness embraces him, he imagines his lover at his side, the shadow memory of innocent touches and stolen kisses.

***

“Fuck! No, no, no, no! Cas, baby, please no.”

Dean scatters dirt as he peers into the hole. _The box is gone. The fucking box is gone!_

His eyes are bloodshot as tears cascade down his face, his heart beating uncontrollably as he struggles for breath. He spins helplessly, his mind trying to gage where Cas could possibly be. His heart drops to his stomach as he eyes mud tracks gouged into the gound, leading deeper into the woods.

“Fuck!” Dean shouts as he runs furiously, desperate to reach the end of the trail. He knows that’s where Cas will be, he just knows it, and he has to get there.

His arms begin to feel heavy, filling with lactic acid accompanied by his heavy jacket. His legs protest, begging him to slow down and rest. His lungs burn as they grab for air, his vision swimming with black dots, but he can’t stop.

His eyes begin to water with more than just his heaving effort, he feels smoke, how it strings his eyes, clouds his airways, floods his senses. He pushes on, forces his body to go faster, not letting up until he is met with the sight of a huge fire; the source of the smoke that ascends into the air, dark and polluting.

He sees three figures, brutally kicking a still figure on the ground. Dean feels a lump rise into his throat, barely suppressing a whimper of pain.

_Don’t let it be him._

Dean reaches into his back pocket, grabbing hold on his pocket knife as he charges the group. They seem oblivious to his presence, focus instead on the lifeless body beneath them. Dean stops dead in his tracks, now close enough to recognize those unmistakable blue eyes. Eyes that used to be so full of love when they looked at him, eyes that are now empty.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even feel an ounce of guilt as he plunges his knife into the back of a tall African-American boys neck. He drops silently, dead before he even hits the ground. Dean moves with lethal silence, slitting the throat of some ugly, balding bastard who he thinks is Zachariah. He barely keeps his composure as he sees the final figure hovering over Castiel. He feels a rage he didn't know he was capable of possessing. Its Michael, Castiel’s own brother, who has a look of satisfaction on his face.

It hurts Dean. Castiel, _his_ _baby_ , must have been so scared. And to die at the hands of his own kin, the person who is supposed to love him unconditionally. To be betrayed by him, is a sin far greater than what any of those people accused them of. What they have is - _was_ - a natural, beautiful part of human nature. What Michael is, is a monster.

Yes, Michael deserves punishment, he deserves to _suffer._

“You fucker.” He shout, and Michael turns around with a startled expression, before it morphs into a smirk.

“How could you, you fucking bastard. He was your brother, he trusted you!”

“He was sick.”

“He was fucking perfect! He was fucking happy. And I swear, you will pay for what you did to him.” Dean swears, usually soft and warm features turned cold and remorseless.

“Let me guess, Dean, I’m going to 'burn in hell.' Yes?”

Dean laughs, it is cold and cruel, and even Michael has the prudence to shiver at the sound.

“Oh, you’re gonna be burning before you get to hell.” And with that, Dean summons all the strength left within him, and shoves Michael into the flames.

Dean is a kind, caring man. He’s the kind of person who would cry when he witnessed someone else’s pain; his heart would ache, feeling their grief as if it was his own. He was an empathic soul. But Michael's screams of agony, how he thrashed as the flames engulfed him and his skin bubbled and boiled, brought him only pure pleasure.

When his anger subsides, he has no choice but to face what he wishes he could ignore. Cas, _his_ Cas, lying broken and bloodied on the ground. “ _Please, no”_ He whispers, as he cradles his dead lovers head in his lap. His fingers are bent at abnormal angles, one eye swollen shut. “Cas, baby, please wake up. C’mon, it ain’t even that bad right?” He waits for a response he knows he won’t get. “Cas, baby, I’m so, so sorry that I failed you.” His breath hitches, tears falling and pattering onto Castiel’s cheeks.

Dean brushes Castiel’s hair off his forehead, running his fingers through his smooth locks. He caresses his cheek with a tenderness that makes his chest throb. Castiel used to smile when he did that. He would laugh, duck his head and smile shyly at the ground, before holding Dean’s hand in place with his own, and kissing the corner of his lips.

He would never do that again.

Dean was alone, but he wouldn’t be for long. They _would_ be together again.

Dean looks at his knife, pressing the tip deep into his wrist and dragging a vertical line downwards. One stroke each hand. Blood pours out from his skin, racing over his hand and dripping like a waterfall. He places one final kiss to cold lips, before lying down next to Castiel, taking his hand into his own. He gently rubs his thumb over Cas’ knuckles, using his free hand to grasp the nape of the blue-eyed man’s neck.

Dean hiccups as his sobs escape him, vision becoming blurry with his own tears. He can’t breathe, can’t stop crying. He tries to reign it in, to capture one last image before he joins him. “I’m coming baby, don’t you worry.”

Dean’s final thought before he dies, is _“at least I honoured my promise.”_

Where Castiel went, Dean followed.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to use the box in the story because I think its great symbolism. This is just my interpretation of the video clip, but the way I see it is the box represents the secrets they have and lies they have to tell others about their relationship. Hence why they “bury their secrets”. So when the others find the box they find out about their secret. They try to open the box but can’t, and like many people hate what they don’t understand, instead of trying to understand the other men (by opening the box) they throw it into the fire and destroy it instead. Just in case the use of the box confused people in this story :)


End file.
